


Living Weapons

by PolarGrizz47



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Feelings, Fighting, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: Ian throws him a staff, and Connor catches it nonchalantly, twirling it in his hand before it crackles to life. The blue reflects in his already light eyes and as Alan stares at his old teacher, covered in blood and steely faced, he realizes that he's made a very bad decision.





	1. Blood on the Staff

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly word vomit, something I just wanted to explore.   
> *Haphazardly smacks some word on the screen.*

Connor had always been a good marksman, Ian knew that. It was part of the reason that the other man had kept his dark hair for all these years, choosing instead to opt for weapons of mankind than the one built within him.

He watches with narrowed blue eyes as Connor and a guard grapple for control of the automated weapon before he turns back towards Zachariah, frozen in the doorway. "Melvin!" Ian snaps, and the other mancer grabs the younger by the arm and leads him away, the door swinging closed with a hollow click.

Connor grunts, throwing his elbow into the guard's belly before lifting his head sharply, watching the other army man across the room raise his weapon. He turns himself into the guard’s chest, using him like a meat shield, letting him soak up the bullets before finally wrenching the weapon from his weakened grip. The guard gasps, sagging forwards and Connor presses the rifle into his skin, finishing the guy off with a final bullet to the throat. There is a spray of blood, painting the left side of Connor's face in gory detail and Ian is suddenly reminded of just how dangerous the typically soft man was.

He could still remember the day Connor had stepped off that train, haunted eyes and twitchy fingers, fresh from the battlefield. Whispers followed him around, tales of his glorious battle and prowess in bloodshed. It was natural for the Abundance Army to make him a teacher for the new recruits, and at first, he was painfully strict. Connor's mind was still _there_ , among the dirt and the gore and the agony. He needed to prepare the youngest mancers for that ordeal. Going easy on them was a death sentence.

-:-

_He stood in front of the young technomancers, his eyes narrowed and hands balled into fists. They all had excited eyes, hopeful demeanors and some even dared to chatter in the stiff silence, whispering their hearts out. Connor slowly strode in front of the odd group, taking in their varying ages, heights, weights. Some couldn’t look at him directly, choosing instead to blink at the floor._

_“Today,” He says, voice commanding a silence that is answered dutifully, all eyes on him. “We study the art of the staff.”_

_A few of the rowdier mancers made sounds of complaints, insisted that they were bored of ‘stick fighting.’ They wanted to play with their technomancy. Connor looked at them sharply, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the nearest staff. It rolled in his palm, comfortable and genuine, slowly lengthening into its full capabilities with a twist of his wrist._

_“Technomancy makes you unique,” Connor said, looking over the worn staff with a critical gaze. “But technomancy will only get you so far. If you don’t respect and understand your arsenal, they won’t help you. And if your weapons fail you, you_ **_will_ ** _die.” He locks eyes with one of the younger mancers who had complained. “You don’t want to end up like the Aurora mancers, now do you?”_

_“No, Master,” They sputtered, bowing their head in apology._

-:-

It had taken Ian several months to earn Connor's friendship, even longer for his genuine trust, but Connor had calmed with time. The nightmares faded, the guilt quieted some, but underneath it all, Connor was still trained in all manners of combat.

-:-

_Ian watched with his arms crossed as Sean and Connor spared, both needing somebody of a higher skill set to keep their body and minds sharp. It was interesting to see their varying styles side by side._

_Sean used his technomancy freely, the air charged and crackling in the arena, blue, glowing sparks glinting against their dark uniforms. Connor, on the other hand, hardly used his gift. Instead, he danced around the room with all the prowess of a predator on the prowl, sizing up his prey before lunging into the openings with a ferocity._

_They fought in rounds, each one lasting a fair amount of time. Sean had gotten Connor to yield the first time, and the second time, Connor had won._

_This one was for the metaphorical money, and Ian had been watching the entire time. They flowed against each other's movements, dodging and rolling, striking and blocking. It was a dance of danger, even if it was all only ‘good fun.’ The more they fought, the more Ian wondered if he would have to intervene and call it a tie._

_Sean had height on Connor, his dignified features pulled with a scowl as their staffs clashed together, the sound ringing in both of their ears. Connor, using his quick-stepping to his advantage, suddenly dropped to his knees in a crouch, kicking his legs out in a smooth semi-circle, catching Sean off-guard._

_He flailed for a moment, trying to right his balance, and Connor took the opening without hesitation. The butt of his staff was shoved into Sean’s gut, eliciting a grunt from the other man, and his shoulder was thrown into the taller’s chest. He hit the ground with a cough, the air driven from his lungs as he wheezed._

_Still, he lifted a leg up, catching Connor in the chest as he made to lunge on his prone form, keeping the man back with a narrowing of his eyes. The toe of his shoe touched at Connor’s chin, their eyes locked and teeth barred until Ian calmly stated, “That’s enough you two.”_

_Connor huffed, slowly letting himself be pushed away, getting himself up and off of Sean’s sole. The got to their feet, dusted themselves off and looked towards the Great Master before bowing in some sort of unspoken apology._

_Ian motioned with his hand. “Critique one another.”_

_Sean hummed, glancing towards Connor as he relaxed his guard, collapsing his staff harmlessly. “You’re a technomancer, yet you hardly discharge in battle. It can be a valuable tool, and you should use it more.”_

_Connor nodded, glancing at Sean’s white hair and smiled, “And I was going to say you use your power_ **_too_ ** _much. And that your staff stance has gotten lazy.” Sean’s nose crinkled and Connor added, “I can help you brush up on your technique, should you find the time.”_

_Sean rumbled with displeasure, “I’ll think about it.”_

-:-

Ian is dragged out of his thoughts as Connor shouts something at him, but heavily armored man is already swinging his weapon at Ian's chest. It hits him like a ton of bricks and the Great Master is thrown off balance, grunting as he hits the ground. Alan is screaming something at the remaining light guard, a warning perhaps, but Connor is already rounding on the army man, dropping the other dead one to the ground at his feet with a feral expression.

There is a burst of gunfire, and Ian isn't sure who killed who, his throat tight as he rolls to his side, narrowly avoiding the blundering from the butt of the heavy's weapon. He swings his legs out, taking the massive man off guard with a heel to the knee and his thin legs quiver under the assault. All that armor may protect him from technomancy, but it made the guy slow and his weight unbalanced.

He quietly thanks Connor for the tough training as he watches the heavy sway as if a blade of grass in a strong breeze.

Ian takes the initiative and lurches to his own feet, slamming into the man full force. If technomancy had no effect, then he'd be forced to do this the old-fashioned way.

As he slams his fist into the heavy's nose, he catches a glimmer of Connor standing over the final light gunman, blood already pooling beneath him, his head splattered open. Connor certainly knew where to aim, that much was clear.

Alan keeps screaming something and lengthens his staff, the glow of electricity lighting up the room as he swings it towards Connor. The older mancer raises the gun up, blocking the blow even as the tingle of electricity moves through his arms.

"Stand down, Alan!" He warns, shoving away from the staff with a roll, leaving the clunky gun behind in favor of ducking the swings. As usual, the younger puffs up in rage and starts blindly chopping at Connor, driven by a need to impress Viktor.

Ian and the heavy topple to the ground, and he feels the muzzle of the weapon press against his side, but the angle was all wrong. There's another shot, but no pain, the bullet slamming harmlessly into the ceiling. Did they even train these army guys anymore? Another punch to the nose and the heavy curses, blood pouring onto his upper lip. Ian rolls to his side, off the inactive man and slams his hand, open palmed, onto the heavy's face.

He channels his energy, listening as the electricity crackles to life in his blood and the sudden pained howls of the man reach his ears. He fights, clawing at Ian's hand with desperation, but the Great Master merely bears his weight down harder, keeping him pinned helplessly. There is a scent of burning flesh and, blessedly, the heavy stops convulsing under him.

Ice blue eyes glance up as Connor grunts in pain, finally caught in the back by the slam of the staff as Alan advances closer. Ian looks towards the far wall, where they'd often kept their equipment for the ceremony and finds that there is still a collection of staffs there waiting. He runs towards them, yanking two off the wall and shivering at the old memories they carried, both good and bad.

Rounding back on Alan, Ian shouts across the room. "Always liked to pick fights, didn't you, Alan?"

The younger snarls, looking at him wildly. "I'll put you all in your damn graves!"

"Never take your eye off your opponent," Connor remarks helpfully as he lunges, slamming his fist into Alan's throat. He sputters and reels back, coughing frantically as he makes the distance between them greater.

Ian throws him a staff, and Connor catches it nonchalantly, twirling it in his hand before it crackles to life. The blue reflects in his already light eyes and as Alan stares at his old teacher, covered in blood and steely faced, he realizes that he's made a very bad decision.

-:-

"So, any plans?" Connor whispers as he hides behind a bench, slowly reloading his weapon with his lips set into a thin line. He counts the remaining men in his head, two on the left of them, and one to the right, all in cover and poking up sporadically to fire. He focuses on the sound of gunfire, the rotation of them reloading until he hears a pattern.

Ian chuckles beside him, bloody lipped and sweating. "For starters, don't die."

Connor makes a face, scowling at the man's deadpan joke. "Ian -"

"I know," The Great Master narrows his eyes, "We need to get out of this damn Chapel before they send in the next batch of troops."

"The underground?" Connor questions before he pops up, weapon aimed and finger on the trigger. He fires a single shot and Ian watches from the corner of their cover as the gunmen on the right crumples, dead on the ground. The mancer falls back into cover with a crouch, his expression carefully schooled, but Ian can sense the fear coming off of his tense frame.

He nods, slowly. "Our best bet. Might be able to crawl up towards the garage, steal something. Make our way out. Follow their tracks, they took a rover. Shouldn't be too hard."

“You say that like we aren’t about to get killed.” Connor grunts, glancing back at the door that was their only easy escape into the darkness of the underground. "We need to make a run for it. I can probably give you cover fire."

"We run _together_ ," Ian stresses, shifting the staff in his hand. "I'll go ahead, kick open the door, and you follow in."

"And if we get shot?"

"Scars add character," Ian says with a shrug, his heart pounding as he rises into a crouch.

Connor nods, a smile pulling at his chapped lips for a moment before his expression becomes calculating once more. They count it down quietly, and on the count of three Ian jumps to his feet, sprinting towards the door. Connor pops up after him, firing a series of shots to keep the two remaining soldiers pinned.

The door swings open easily underfoot, Ian grabbing Connor by the back of his vest and pushing him forwards, shielding the shorter man with his body as the door slams closed behind them with the sound of bullets pelting it. It wasn’t fast enough though and he flinches, gritting his teeth against the pain.

The other mancer's eyes are wild, glancing at him with worry. "You good?"

"I'm fine," Ian assures, motioning with his arm. He was banking on the adrenaline to get him out of this mess before he crashed and burned.

-:-

Ian and Connor are bloody, bruised and exhausted by the time they slam the door of an army issued rover closed. It had been a bloodbath and as Connor starts the engine to life, Ian collapses into the passenger seat, a hand pressed to his reddened middle. He glances at the other man, at his intense expression and his shaking hands.

Connor is dreadfully silent, save for his labored breathing, and the tense, coppery air is frightening between them, singing with unspoken thoughts. The rover lurches under them, with an urgency. Connor had managed to get the doors to the outside, blistering environment opened, giving them a small window of time before the whole place shut down.

Ian could only imagine the torture they could endure if Viktor got their hands on them.

As they enter the direct sunlight, the temperature climbs in the rover and Ian leans his head back, a crazed laugh crawling up his throat.

They did it. They survived and left a gory cut through the Abundance troops. It was a delectable irony Ian thought, the army slaughtered by their own trained, living weapons.

-:-

He couldn't remember how they exactly got to the city of Noctis. All he vaguely remembered was Connor touching at him, urging him to stay awake, but he still had nodded off, trembling with blood loss.

Ian squints at the ceiling as he first awakens, voices dulled in his head, the pain of his wound is nonexistent but his body is strangely heavy. He crinkles his nose, turning his head as he sees some sort of lamp nearby, spilling its thick, fog-like incense over him.

Another scan of the room makes him more aware of the strange surroundings. It's decorated with unordinary drapes, colorful and triangular in design. The scent of the incense is almost suffocating, thick and flowery. Nothing like the antiseptic smell of an overly sterile hospital room.

Or the bloodied, musty scent of a dimly lit interrogation room.

He manages a sigh of relief.

For a while, he lays there, breathing in the incense, tasting it on his tongue. He couldn't quite place the flavor, but the longer he lays there, the more he can pick up on the conversation happening just outside his room. The sound of familiar voices calms him some, clearly, Zachariah had saved the other mancers. He tries to speak up, but his voice cracks and he coughs, thoroughly parched.

That seems to draw some attention, and Melvin pokes his head into the room with a bewildered expression, "You're awake!" He sounds awed, scrambling to the elder’s bedside with a heavy sigh. "We didn't think -- they said you'd be out for days."

Ian slowly motions towards his throat, and Melvin jumps to pour him a glass of water from the tiny pitcher already placed by his bedside. He drinks greedily, its blissful on his sore throat and cools in his belly. Melvin watches him worriedly, refilling the glass when prompted.

"You should know to..." Ian starts slowly, sitting up some and touching at his bandaged, bare chest. "...never underestimate a technomancer." He breathes in deep, only flinching subtly at the pull of the wound. "Didn't hit anything important?"

"You're lucky," Melvin hands the glass back over, fiddling with his hands nervously. "When we popped open that rover -- we all thought you were dead."

Ian swallows thickly, suddenly remembering all the circumstances. All the blood he had spilled, the strain he had put on himself. But he wasn't alone in that rover, "Connor -- where is he? How is he? Did he -- did he make it?"

The other mancer's face falls and he gestures vaguely with his hands. "He's..." He notices the frightful look that comes to Ian and he quickly explains, "He's alive. Won't let anyone close, perched himself up high. Looking out for something, said something about being followed... He's..." Melvin sighs, shoulders slouching. "Connor is not himself."

Those blue eyes narrow dangerously and Ian grunts, determined to get out of bed and see for himself.

Melvin tries to stop him, of course, but soon enough to Great Master is wearing a loose, red shirt and making his way out of the room with worried eyes and a hand pressed to his still aching side.

-:-

Connor sits with his back to him, an old, weathered rifle in his lap and eyes glued on the land far below them from the vantage point. The wind blows gently here, bringing the scent of old blood with it, slapping Ian across the jowls. His gut clenches once he realizes that Connor is wearing the same clothes, bloodied and sweaty. His hair sticks to his forehead and dried flakes of brown crack against his skin and his uniform in strange places.

"Connor," Ian announces, slowly walking closer. He dares not touch the other man, and instead stands beside him. Those light eyes are focused with such an intensity on the horizon that Ian wonders if Connor had even heard him. Up this close, Ian can see how pale the other man is, how the sweat beads along his brows and drips down his hairline.

He takes a steadying, deep breath.

The scene reminded him of a past he'd rather forget, something that he'd been hoping to shield Connor from, keep him from experiencing ever again.

He slowly sinks to a knee, turning his head to look at Connor's face closely. "Connor," He tries again, placing a gentle hand on his knee.

The other mancer suddenly jerks under him, violently thrown out of whatever trance he'd been lost in. He blinks, turning his head to gaze at Ian dumbly before the picture clicks into place and he sucks in a fast breath. It breaks his heart to see those horrors in Connor's eyes, lost memories and untold battles shining deep within that shocked gaze.

Ian sees the tears begin to form in those pained eyes, feels the full body tremble begin in Connor's limbs and he wraps the other man up into a tight hug, pulling his head into his chest. Connor heaves, messily gasping in a sob that cracks and falls like waves hitting stone.

"I'm here," Ian assures, "I'm right here. And you're not _there_ , you're with me," He pets at Connor's crusty hair, resting his chin atop the other man's head. Without his gloves on, every sensation is heightened on Ian’s bare skin and he swears that he could count the matted, gory spots on Connor’s hair if he had the time.

Weak, bloodied and bruised hands clutch at him, tugging at the shirt with urgency. The sobs crawl out of him in a struggle, almost as if Connor tries to bite them back, bury the feelings with rationalization.

"It's okay," The Great Master whispers, "Let it go. I'm right here," He urges softly, bringing his other arm around to sooth against Connor's shaking shoulders and back. "You're going to be okay."

A dam of emotion bursts somewhere in Connor's mind and he finally breaks down, tears slipping down his dirtied cheeks and his breathing falling into choppy, wet territory against the crook of the other's neck. He hated it, what he'd been shaped into, what he could do.

What they _made_ him do.

The guilt of his actions settle heavy in his gut, nausea trembling through him, but Connor pushes his face deeper into Ian's chest, letting the scent of incense and the Great Master try to calm him.

Ian holds him, feels himself even cry with Connor until the other man wrings himself out. He slouches heavily into him, arms dead weight around Ian's shoulders, dragged under from such an emotional and physical toll.

The Great Master can't let go, merely pets at the other man while gazing across their new, sandy environment. The warm breeze had quickly dried the tears from his cheeks, but he could feel the sting in his reddened eyes.

Could still smell the blood in the air and taste the bitter truth on his tongue.

But if they could get out of Abundance _alive_ then they were going to get through this, somehow.

He was sure of it.


	2. Fleeting Moments

Connor looks different without his upper uniform on. Smaller.  _ Vulnerable _ . It makes Ian uncomfortable, but he told himself that it was only until the blood and sweat got washed from their usual attire. He had felt naked without his gloves and had requested that those be cleaned first. They sit folded on his knee, within arms reach. He lets his bare hand reach out, touch at Connor’s knee, noticing how his pants have old bloodstains on the dark cloth, crusty and emotionally heavy. 

There is a cup of something warm and earthy smelling in Connor’s grip, his scarred fingers curled around the metal desperately. That wild look has faded from his eyes, but he is still tense and jumpy. A staff lays by his feet, ready and waiting. He may be more comfortable than Ian without his gloves, but the thought of not having a weapon nearby is terrifying to the tired mancer. 

Ian purses his lips and slowly drapes his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him closer with a murmur that’s lost between them. Connor tenses, taking in their environment - a patio seating area in Dandolo’s palace, high above the common folk of the city, a vantage point that brings comfort in knowledge. He could see people, but they couldn’t easily see him. Connor slowly sinks into Ian’s side, resting his head on the Great Master’s shoulder.

He smells of something flowery, a bit too strong, but it's far better than the scent of gore and sweat. Ian turns his cheek into the freshly cleaned dark hair atop Connor’s head and breaths in deep. 

No words are spoken between them, not yet, not now, but Connor takes his free hand and wraps it around Ian’s own. Their bare skin tingles at the contact, but Ian likes the way their hands folded together, comfortable, trusting. 

Later, he tells himself, they would help each other drag the demons into the daylight and burn them into quietness. They would confront their dark beasts together, side by side.

Their battle isn’t over yet, Zachariah still was making plans to cut Viktor at the knees, but for now, no matter how fleeting, they had this moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> And no, they don't kill Alan!! He's just taking a nap with a broken nose. 
> 
> Hope it made a bit of sense! And I wish we could've stayed and helped these two ;W; 
> 
> They deserved better!! *SOB*


End file.
